


Thank God for Little Boys

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>did you ever have one of those days when you feel like you're useless for everything, and then you give up on life and just write total crack to make yourself feel better?  Yeah, I had one of those days.  Inspired by <a href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_ls38ayMHso1qmt6n1o1_1280.png?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1317075701&Signature=p9fKIVEIlVfbI%2BPOw%2Bxp7K9VSEw%3D">this</a> amazing picture by <a href="http://cafe-de-labeill.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://cafe-de-labeill.livejournal.com/"><b>cafe_de_labeill</b></a> and encouraged by <a href="http://velvetina-belle.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://velvetina-belle.dreamwidth.org/"><b>velvetina_belle</b></a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Thank God for Little Boys

**Author's Note:**

> did you ever have one of those days when you feel like you're useless for everything, and then you give up on life and just write total crack to make yourself feel better? Yeah, I had one of those days. Inspired by [this](http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_ls38ayMHso1qmt6n1o1_1280.png?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1317075701&Signature=p9fKIVEIlVfbI%2BPOw%2Bxp7K9VSEw%3D) amazing picture by [](http://cafe-de-labeill.livejournal.com/profile)[**cafe_de_labeill**](http://cafe-de-labeill.livejournal.com/) and encouraged by [](http://velvetina-belle.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**velvetina_belle**](http://velvetina-belle.dreamwidth.org/)

It started the way all the craziest shit in Bobby Singer’s life always did – with a phone call. The caller ID on the house phone read “Paige, J” so Bobby steeled himself for disaster well before he picked it up.

“Dean.”

There was a buzz of background noise on the other end, like people talking at a distance, but no response.

“Dean? Ya there?”

“Hey – hey, guys!” The voice sounded like Dean’s – if Dean had been inhaling a Superbowl blimp worth of helium. “It’s Bobby! Bobby!”

The last exclamation was made directly into Bobby’s good ear at unspeakable volumes. “Christ on crutches, boy – I ain’t deaf – turn it down.”

There was a long silence, and then something that, if Bobby hadn’t known any better, he would have thought was a sniffle. “You don’t have to yell.”

“Dean, Dean, Dean!” That sounded like Sam in the background, but again, with the liberal application of helium. “lemme talk!”

“ _I’m_ talking Sam,” Dean countered, with a distinctly childish whine, and Bobby felt cold dread slide down his spine and lodge itself somewhere uncomfortable.

“Sit tight, boys. I’ll be right there.”

***

When Dean had proposed a non-apocalypse-related hunt for him and Sam, Bobby would admit he had practically thrown them out the door as encouragement. He’d figured that a chance to get out of the house and shoot something would take the edge off their damned constant bickering before Bobby ended up cracking them each over the head with a tire iron.

So he’d watched Sam and Dean, dragging a reluctant, moody not-quite-angel along for the ride, load up in the Impala and drive out of sight, feeling nothing but relief that he would finally have a few hours to himself.

If he had known how things would turn out, he would’ve kept them closer to home.

“Bob-by! Dean's kicking me!”

Bobby glanced into the rear-view mirror at the trio of five year olds in the back seat and suppressed a sigh. “Dean, stop kickin’ your brother.”

“He’s on my _side_ ,” Dean huffed, changing his tactic from kicking at his brother’s shins to shoving at his shoulder. Castiel had squished himself up against the opposite door and was looking for all the world like _he_ was the one being kicked. If he started with the waterworks again, Bobby was going to lose it.

“Sam, you come sit up here.”

Sam unsnapped his belt and climbed over into the front seat, while Dean wailed, “How come he gets to sit up front?!”

“Because you’re kicking him, idjit. You stay back there with Cas.”

Dean folded chubby arms across his chest and hunkered down in a full-blown pout. Bobby put his eyes back on the road. Just another hour and he’d be home. He’d never seen a curse like this one – whatever it was, it hadn’t simply turned back the clock on the boys, it had more or less miniaturized them; they had the same haircuts, the same scars, they were even wearing itty bitty versions of the clothes he’d seen them leave the house in. This wasn’t just some spell pulled out of a book – it was powerful, custom magic, and Bobby didn’t have the first clue how to start reversing the process.

“Bobby,” Castiel said, in a voice that was too deep for his five-year old body, “Dean is poking me.”

Custom magic or not, if he didn’t find the answer soon, Bobby was going to go insane.

***

“Look, I can fly! I’m flying!”

“Stop that, ya idjit,” Bobby grabbed Castiel by the back of his trench coat and yanked him off the bed, depositing him on the floor. Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes enormous and terrified.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” his chin quivered, his eyes welled with tears, and before Bobby could even think to stop him, he was bawling.

“Balls,” Bobby hissed, picking up the squalling miniature angel against the twinge of sciatica in lower back just as Dean raced through the living room, waving what Bobby really hoped wasn’t a loaded gun and shouting “boom boom boom!” Sam was at the kitchen table colouring in an old _Guns and Ammo_ magazine with a grease pencil, and Bobby needed a drink.

***

Fifteen hours later, with precious little research under his belt – and precious little sleep on top of that – Bobby was at the stove heating up a couple of cans of ravioli when he felt a tug on the hem of his shirt.

“Bobby, will you read this to me?”

Bobby looked down at Sam, who looked up at him through the untidy mop of his hair, clutching a book to his chest. Bobby scrubbed the back of one hand across his forehead and sighed, “Not now, son.”

“Pleaaaaase?” If there was one thing that hadn’t changed in Sam Winchester between the time he had really been five years old and now, it was the fact that he had the best puppy face known to man or angels. He held up the book imploringly. The cover read: _The Nature of Spirits and Demons_ in Latin.

Suddenly, from the living room, came a loud bang followed by a long wail, like a siren going off. Bobby suppressed a groan and shut off the heat, pushing the hot pot to the back of the stove, out of reach of small hands.

In the study, Dean was bouncing on the bed – Bobby didn’t seem to be able to get it through anyone’s head that the bed was for sitting or sleeping, _not_ for bouncing – and Castiel was sitting on the floor, baby-round face all scrunched up and streaked with tears as he wailed to the high heavens.

“What happened?” Bobby demanded, kneeling on the floor and making his best attempt to calm Castiel by rubbing between his shoulder blades.

Dean didn’t even stop bouncing to shrug, “Cas fell down.”

“Did he fall, or did you push him?”

Dean bounced himself right off the bed and Bobby winced at the thud he made when he hit the hardwood, but Dean carried on without missing a beat. He dropped at Castiel’s side and threw his arms around the angel’s neck and shoulders, crushing himself against Castiel with all the strength in his bitty little body. “I wouldn’t do that! I love Cas!” He pressed a huge, sloppy kiss to Castiel’s cheek and declared, “I love you Cas.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, but Castiel’s wailing dropped away to wet snuffles, so that was something, at least.

Suddenly, Dean hopped up and raced across the room to where Sam was standing in the doorway, book still in hand, threw his arms around his brother and declared, “I love you too Sam!” Then he spun around, not so much as slowing down, and launched himself at Bobby, nearly knocking him on his ass with the hug.

“And you too, Bobby,” he beamed, “you too.”

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bobby didn’t even bother to hide the misery on his face, “Don’t I wish.”

The boys raced past again – Bobby had “encouraged” them to play chase around the house in the hopes that it would put them to sleep at some point. So far, it wasn’t working.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but all I need is a few hours to pick up some supplies, and then I can reverse this. I think.” From the back room, there was a thump, and a wail of surprise. Bobby sighed heavily. “Cas falls down a lot. And you gotta keep Dean away from the guns.”

Sheriff Mills folded her arms and sighed, “You’re going to owe me big for this, Singer.”

***

They were actually sort of cute when they were sleeping – just a pile of little boy arms and legs, chests rising and falling softly. Dean was sandwiched in between his brother and Castiel, head tucked against the angel’s shoulder, one leg sprawled over Sam’s. Sam was still cradling his book in one arm, and Castiel was curled towards Dean, arms wrapped tight around him.

Bobby knew he would never admit it aloud – in fact, he would probably try to never think about it again – but there was a serious moment when he thought about leaving them that way, forever.

Then he headed to the desk and got started on the reversal spell.

-End-

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Thank God For Little Boys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3549218) by [kansouame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansouame/pseuds/kansouame)




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